Variations On A Theme
by NajwaBarlaam
Summary: A/U - Lily Evans only has one year left at Hogwarts. All she has to do is survive sharing head duties with James Potter, who has never been anything but a bully to her. Oh, and the budding war on muggleborns. She should probably try to make it through that as well.
1. History

_Fifth Year_

"Alright, Lily?"

Lily Evans looked up to find Sirius Black taking a seat next to her. Her eyes flicked immediately back to her book. She held perfectly still, a rabbit trying to blend into its surroundings.

"I know you don't like me," he continued, as though it was perfectly normal for him to have a conversation with her. "And I understand. Really. It's my fault. I haven't exactly been kind to you."

Lily didn't know how to respond. He spoke nothing but the pure, honest truth. But that didn't mean she should agree with him. She decided to do nothing. She simply sat, her eyes trained on her text, unmoving. Her hands lay folded in her lap.

She jumped when he laid a hand over hers. Her eyes shot up to his. She tried to pull away, but he held her fast.

"The truth is, I think you're lovely. I always have." She looked away, heard him make an odd sound, like his voice got caught, stuck, somewhere along the way. He cleared his throat.

"I just, I'm hoping you'll give me a second chance. That you'll let me take you to Hogsmeade." His voice rushed now, tripping over itself. "I really think we could -" and then he dissolved into laughter, his head pressed against his hand, which still gripped hers.

"I can't," he said, turning and looking back at his friends, who were huddled behind a bookshelf, watching the scene play out and giggling amongst themselves. "I just can't." He let her go – flung her hands from his – and strolled over to join them. "Merlin. You win. I'll wear the bloody tutu."

More laughter followed, and Lily quietly closed her book. She picked it up, tucked it under her arm, and walked toward the exit, struggling to keep her pace unhurried. She refused to rush, even when their jeers should have chased her out.

* * *

_Seventh Year_

Lily didn't want to go to her room. She'd never particularly liked being in the dormitory, either, but this year would prove – she had no doubt – to be the worst one yet. She was sharing a suite of rooms with James Potter.

She wasn't dramatic enough to say she couldn't imagine anything worse. Voldemort had spent the last several years quietly amassing a following. The more like-minded people he found, the louder they grew. It had become quite clear to Lily that a large portion of the magical world would prefer it had she never been born. The number who would actually seek to kill her was smaller, but not insignificant either.

So sharing living space with James Potter didn't compare, but that didn't mean she wanted to do it. In fact, she was even now on her way back from speaking with Professor Dumbledore. She had tried to return her head badge.

If Potter had earned it, it obviously didn't mean much. And anyway, at the rate public opinion was going, she'd be lucky to get any job. She doubted very much whether Head Girl would factor in at all. She'd just put her head down and focus on her N.E.W.T.s.

Or that had been her plan anyway. Dumbledore had refused to let her resign. And the more he pressed, the sillier she felt for her reasoning. It was just a stupid boy. She could handle a little bullying. She'd managed six years of it. What was one more.

Still, she dragged her feet. Crossing the castle had never taken her so long. When she finally spoke the password the headmaster had given her, resignation oozed from her pores. She prayed he was in his room. Or simply gone. Perhaps she'd get lucky and he and his mates would spend the entire year in the seventh year's dorm.

The door opened, and she knew immediately that luck was not her friend. James Potter lounged on a couch. Two stuffed armchairs and a few end tables surrounded a coffee table, backed by a roaring fire. The other side of the room was comprised of a small kitchenette and a decent sized table, which would do nicely for a bit of work space. The common room as a whole paled in comparison to the Gryffindor version a short distance away, but for only two, it would do nicely.

Or would have, at any rate, if she hadn't been paired with James Potter.

The boy in question looked up on her entrance and nodded. "Evans," he said, his tone polite.

"Potter." She returned his nod, inclining her head in a perfect mirror of his gesture. "Goodnight."

That was all. She walked toward the open door, where she could see her trunk at the foot of the bed. The moment she stepped into her room – her sanctuary – she shut the door. She could bear this. She simply had to keep encounters simple, civil, and as short as possible.

* * *

The first threat didn't come that night. They bided their time. It took a full three days before she found one, folded neatly in her Transfiguration book. Short and to the point, as always, it simply said, "Mudblood."

Perhaps she overreacted, calling it a threat. Simply being an insult – one written in blood – didn't make it dangerous. She stared at it for a full minute before shoving it into a drawer in her desk. She tried to finish her transfiguration reading, but gave up after the eleventh time she reread the same page.

She snapped the book shut, pulled the note back out, and set it on fire with a simple spell. She blew one quick breath at the ash that coated her desk, sending it swirling into the air. One flick of her wand, and the window flew open and ushered the remnants outside.

Knowing she still wouldn't be able to concentrate, she closed her book and stomped out to the little kitchen for a cup of tea. She froze when she saw Potter stretched out on the couch.

"Lovely," he said. "I've been wondering when we'd get a chance to speak."

"Not now, Potter," Lily snapped.

He gave a long sigh and sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees and running his fingers through his hair. Why he preferred it messy, she would never know.

"I had a feeling this would happen," he said, sounding much aggrieved. "I know I haven't always been-"

"I've seen this show before," she said, waving him silent. "Let's skip it, shall we? I don't see any reason for us to pretend we're friendly."

He looked taken aback. "Well," he said, messing up his hair some more. "We _are_ going to have to work together."

Lily turned away. "I don't see why," she said, turning on the kettle and getting out a cup. "You focus on quidditch. I'll deal with the rest of it."

"You mean you'll do both our jobs," he said.

"Of course not. Can you imagine me out on the pitch, shouting orders at your team?"

"That's a separate responsibility."

"That's asking rather a lot of you, don't you think? I'm just trying to make both our lives easier."

She glanced over in time to see his raised eyebrows. "How is doing two jobs making your life easier?" he asked.

"Well," Lily said, too irritated with the night to be civil, "I wouldn't have to be around you much at all. In fact, we could make it an even trade. I'll handle all of your Head Boy responsibilities, if you'll agree to a schedule for the common room, so our time in it needn't overlap."

He just stared at her. "Let me get this straight. It's not just that you don't want to work with me. You also can't stand being in the same room with me?"

The kettle shrilled it's whistle. She pulled it off the stove and poured some water in her cup. "Have the past six years somehow given you the impression we're friends?"

"Of course not," he scoffed.

"Then I don't see what the problem is. Why don't I write up a schedule? I'll leave it on the table tomorrow morning. You can look it over. If you follow it, I'll assume we've come to an agreement."

He seemed incapable of responding, so she sent him an approximation of a smile – really more a showing of teeth – and stomped back into her bedroom, cup of tea firmly in hand. He still hadn't said anything when the door slammed shut.


	2. Open To Interpretation

He didn't follow the schedule. James Potter had proved himself, time and again, completely incapable of even the tiniest speck of decency. He did it simply to irritate her. She was sure of it.

She wasn't the best witch in her year for nothing, though, so she simply worked around him. She set up charms that informed her when a human was in the common room. As she had told no one the password, she could be quite sure any time they indicated a presence, it was him or one of his friends. She doubted he'd kept the password from them.

It had worked so far, at any rate. She had lasted a full week without seeing him once. Except in class of course, and that was inevitable. He was his usual charming self, full of insults and bravado, and his friends were equally endearing.

She stood under the spray of the shower, annoyed with the whole situation. She could not even begin to understand why Dumbledore hadn't simply accepted her resignation. He probably wanted to show solidarity with the muggleborn.

She snorted. Three more notes. She hadn't even been back two full weeks, and she'd already gotten four. Somehow she doubted forcing her into the spotlight had benefited her.

She turned off the water and wrapped a towel around herself. Still dripping, she stumbled toward the door. She needed to get some rest. The notes weren't worth losing sleep over.

"Morning, Ev-" Potter trailed off, stunned at her half-clad appearance. "I though you'd be dressed," he said, clearing his throat.

"I thought you'd be gone," she responded, ignoring the second look. Lovely. He would almost certainly report his findings to his friends. Now the people who had spent the last six years calling her fat at every opportunity would have a little more fuel for the fire. Now they would have a better idea exactly where to aim their shots. She'd really have to remember to thank Dumbledore.

"I've been wanting to talk to you," he said, with a bit more throat clearing. "About our, uh, situation."

"I'm a bit busy, at the moment, Potter," she said, gesturing to her towel. His eyes followed the movement, and her stomach turned.

"I can, uh, I can see that," he said.

She ignored him and headed toward her room. She slammed the door in his face, but he continued yelling to her from outside it, seeming to pick up momentum.

"You're always busy," he shouted. "And the thing is, I get the feeling you might be avoiding me."

"What gave you that idea?" she said, as she threw on clothes. She refused to shout, but she let her voice carry. It maintained the sarcasm better that way.

"Well, for starters, you made up a schedule for the sole purpose of never having to see me."

She opened the door, and found him leaning against the jam.

"So that was a hint," he continued. His eyes flicked down to survey her, but he at least tried to pretend he was looking at her face rather than gathering ammunition for his next assault.

"Have you never learned to take a hint, then?" she asked, leaving the door open as she ran back to grab her robes. She leaned down to pick them up. When she turned back, she found his eyes on her again. Lovely. They'd probably write her a wonderful sonnet, all about how her ass marveled that of only the largest hippopotamus.

"No," he said, coughing sharply. "I must have, uh, I must have missed that lesson."

"Shame," she said, sweeping by him.

"The thing is," he called out, as she made her way to the door of the common room. "I'm taking being head boy very seriously. I'm not interested in having you do my work for me. So I'd suggest you get used to the idea of dealing with me."

Lacking any ready response, she had to settle for a glare as she walked out the door.

* * *

He hadn't been joking, apparently. He was still a jerk in class, but mostly he just ignored her in public. Otherwise, he was the very soul of responsibility. He handled all of his head duties, was on time for every meeting, actually took his authority seriously. She had no idea how to respond.

It had only been a few weeks, though. He was sure to get tired of acting the choir boy.

She lay in bend, picturing the most recent note. It had been burned into her brain. No words this time. Just an image, like one of those Rorschach tests, except all she could see was herself screaming in pain.

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyelids, willing the image away. She tried to relax, to picture herself in her bedroom at her parents house, safe and sound. But the faces of potential Death Eaters kept popping into her head.

Shocking, rapid thumps intruded on her. She jerked and nearly fell out of bed, before she realized they were coming from the door.

"Lily!" she heard. "Lily, open the door." And then Potter returned to bruising his fist against the wood.

She shot out of bed and stormed over to the door, flinging it open in embarrassed fury. "What?" she snapped.

He blinked and swayed, staring at her. Following the trail his eyes left, she glanced down at herself and realized she was wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt.

"For God's sake," she snapped. She tried to slam the door on him as blood rushed to her face.

He pushed his way in and pulled her to him, closing his mouth over hers before she could splutter out a response.

She pressed her hands to his chest, pushing him away. She didn't notice when her fingers began to cling instead. His mouth tasted of peppermint and firewhiskey.

He walked her back toward the bed. "I've been thinking about this all night," he said, his mouth traveling over to her ear and nipping at it.

Her knees bumped into the bed, and his hands wandered below the hem of her shirt, sliding up from knee to thigh, dragging one leg up to wrap around him as he lowered her onto the mattress.

He started to crawl on after her, but she came to her senses. With one hard shove, she knocked him back several steps. Off balance, he wobbled and nearly fell.

"What?" he blinked at her and shifted forward, baffled. "Why-"

She shoved him back again, moving him in bursts back toward the door and out of her room. The moment he was through the door, she slammed it shut and locked it with a snick.

She pressed her hands to her stomach, which was still jumping. What the hell had she done?

She flopped onto her bed and pulled a pillow over her face. This was going to be mortifying. It was probably all she would hear about for the rest of the year.


	3. Brave

She slept poorly. By the time she woke up, she probably hadn't had more than a few hours. Just pieced together fragments, snippets of sleep interrupted by feverish dreams and cold, Death Eater-induced terror in equal measure.

Now she lay in bed, trying to determine her best course of action. She could be a brave little Gryffindor and face the music. So people would laugh at her. It had happened before, it would happen again. Nothing she could do about it.

And anyway, he had seemed pretty drunk. Maybe he wouldn't remember that their plan had succeeded. Maybe there hadn't even been a plan. He could have taken it upon himself to try to humiliate her, spur of the moment. They did operate autonomously, from time to time.

He had said something about thinking about it all night, though. That didn't sound spontaneous. Maybe the close quarters were getting to him.

Lily didn't have any illusions about her looks. She was a five, maybe. Her face wasn't bad, but her hair _was_ pretty garish, as any number of people had pointed out. And she wasn't exactly slim.

The doctor claimed she was a healthy weight. Just a "little extra padding," her mother called it. So her legs weren't exactly slim and graceful. Elephant thighs, Potter called them. Which didn't even make sense. Elephants weren't known for particularly thick thighs.

Which did beg the question, why would he want her now?

He wouldn't, obviously. But alcohol lowered standards, everyone knew that. Perhaps he'd just been a bit desperate, and she'd been nearby. Hopefully he wouldn't remember any of it.

Despite her rationalization, Lily decided to stay in bed all day. So she wasn't a brave little Gryffindor. She was a sensible one, and wasn't that better anyway? There was nothing in the school charter that said Gryffindors were required to run full tilt into sure annihilation. She would lay low, wait for the whole thing to blow over, and then act as though nothing had happened. Easy as pie.

Her stomach rumbled. Pie. She rolled over and buried her head under her pillow. Food had always been a problem for her. She just liked it too much. That was why she'd never managed to have her sister's figure. Petunia could skip meals at will. Lily was much more likely to add extras in.

Her stomach grumbled again. She launched herself out of bed, dragged on baggy sweat pants, and slunk toward the door. She hadn't heard him yet. And there had been biscuits in the kitchen. She was sure of it. She'd just slip out, grab the biscuits, and retreat to her bedroom. By Monday he'd have forgotten the whole thing. She could probably live off a packet of biscuits for one little weekend.

She cracked the door open, surveyed the room, and tiptoed out into the little kitchen. She had just opened the cupboard door when she heard a voice.

"Do you always treat getting a biscuit like a daylight robbery of Gringotts?"

Lily froze. "I didn't want to wake you," she said, in a soft voice.

"That's very considerate of you," he said. But something in his tone told her he didn't really mean it. "Much more considerate than shoving me into walls and knocking me over."

She spun to face him. "You're the one who broke into my room-" she began. When he laughed, she looked down to realize she had been shaking a finger at him. She lowered it, gripping the pack of biscuits more tightly.

"I believe I knocked," he corrected, inclining his head.

"That's one way to put it," she muttered, clinging to the cookies.

"Is there another?" he asked, tone perfectly polite.

"Tried to break down my door with your bare hands?" she suggested, starting to slowly back away.

A smile turned up, just slightly, at the corners of his mouth. She flushed and looked away.

"You think very highly of your effect on me," he said.

Her eyes flicked to his. "Not particularly, no," she said, taking another step in retreat. "I have no idea what you have planned. I'm sure it's horrible, but I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

He made a sound she couldn't interpret, and she glanced at his face again, still easing toward the door.

"I assure you," he said. "It wasn't planned."

"I'm sure that's very comforting." She was almost there. And she'd had the sense to leave it open! Just a quick dash and she could be home free. With the biscuits.

"Perhaps not," he said, inclining his head. It was almost a bow, and seemed even more so as he followed it up with what sounded like a sincere apology. "It was unacceptable behavior. I do apologize."

She blinked at him, on the brink of deliverance. Her elbow was practically through the door. "I'm sorry?" she said.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," he responded, though he knew perfectly well she hadn't been apologizing. "I was completely out of line. It won't happen again."

He gave another short bow and excused himself. She was still standing in her doorway, staring blankly ahead, when he walked out the door.


	4. Rabbit

He hadn't mentioned anything to his friends, that much was clear. They were their usual hysterical selves in lessons, but never mocked her for anything that had happened between Lily and James. They'd made it through an entire week without anyone finding out. Lily began to hope they could last the whole year with no one the wiser.

Assuming she could last the whole year. Three more notes. They hadn't escalated, not in quantity, at any rate. But they had grown more and more threatening. The last one had been a moving photograph of her studying in the library. She had seen nothing.

Her quill scratched over parchment as she wrote names and details on her suspect list. It had begun as just Slytherins, but she had slowly been filling it in with students from other houses as well. Popular, she was not.

She tapped her quill next to a name she had been wavering over for a week. James Potter. Did she really think he would stoop that low? Sirius, perhaps. He did have a lot of unsavory relatives. But Potter had never struck her as the prejudiced sort. Cruel, certainly. But threatening . . .

Unless it was a prank. They would do it as a prank. Probably get a right laugh, thinking she actually believed it. She doubted they had developed enough of a conscience between the lot of them to realized how little difference there was between actually threatening someone and pretending to.

Remus wouldn't, though. He wouldn't take part, at any rate. She'd got on well enough with him, as prefects. And he never really joined in, when they targeted her. He didn't intervene, either. Which meant she couldn't cross them off the list. He might find it distasteful, but he probably wouldn't do anything to stop them, if they thought it a great old joke.

She shook off her indecision and refocused her efforts on potential Death Eater recruits. They seemed the likeliest option. If The Marauders insulted her, it tended to center on her weight, or her looks, or her personality. Blood had never factored in.

She bit her lip and slowly crossed each one off the list. Her quill drifted up to Snape's name. They had been friends once. She didn't think he would do anything to hurt her, or even frighten her. But she didn't like where he drew his lines. He might be able to rationalize just giving her a scare, if it got him in with the crowd he followed.

She moved on without crossing him off. And that was the problem. There were just too many names to do anything with. Depressed, she set the list aside. How could there be so many people who would want her dead? Or want her to feel threatened, at the very least.

She glanced at the clock. Midnight. She wanted Potter to stroll in, announce he was knackered, and collapse on his bed. As foolish as it sounded, she feared a repeat of last Friday's encounter.

Feared. She let a hand rest on her knotted stomach, and tried to convince herself it was just that. Fear of the inconvenience, the inevitable embarrassment. She bit her lip, knowing that wasn't all there was to it.

She had never been kissed like that. She'd only ever been kissed once before, and it had been sloppy, and wet, and just a bit uncomfortable.

A tiny, tiny part of her the rest shouted into silence kept replaying the kiss over and over again. He was very good at it. Then again, he'd had quite a lot of practice.

She looked up when she heard the door open. It closed quietly, and she let out a breath. Relief and disappointment mingled in her gut. No repeat performance tonight.

She pulled out a Charms book, and set about researching what she could do to catch the person sending the notes. They had to be getting them into her books somehow. If they touched them, perhaps she could lay a trap. She knew of a few Charms that could mark a person who touched them. She would simply need to alter them so only she could see the mark.

An hour later, when she thought she had a workable option, she wandered out toward the kitchen, in search of a little snack. More and more food had begun appearing in the kitchen. She had no idea how it got there, but wasn't about to look a gift-horse in the mouth.

She didn't even notice Potter on the couch until he spoke. "Stopped avoiding me, have you?" he said, legs stretched out and crossed, a book lying on his chest.

"Oh. Potter. I thought you'd gone to bed." She realized as soon as she said it that she should have kept her mouth shut.

He laughed. "I'll take that as a no."

"I just wanted a little snack," she offered, for lack of anything better to say. She glanced down at the food in her arms. Biscuits, crisps, two separate kinds of candy, and a slice of cake. Lovely.

"I see that," he said, amusement ringing through his voice.

She bit her lip, oblivious to his sharpened gaze. "Yes, well. I have things to do. Important things to do." She closed her eyes, feeling utterly foolish. "So I'd better go do them." No sense in backtracking now.

He chuckled. "Yes. Making yourself sick with sweets. Important business."

"We all have our talents," she said, flouncing toward her room.

"Wait," he called out, rising from his seat. "You aren't going to share?" He strolled over to her, hands tucked into his pockets.

She froze, breath catching. She didn't want him that close to her. A memory from an over-heated dream flashed into her head, and she prayed to everything holy that he couldn't read minds. He probably didn't have to, given the amusement on his face and her rising color.

He reached toward the cake, balanced precariously on top of the rest of her rations, and broke off a little piece. He slipped it into his mouth, and her eyes followed his every move. Forget a rabbit, she was a mouse, staring in fascination at the snake that about to eat her for dinner.

He held her gaze, smiled, leaned closer. "Why don't you come sit down? We can share."

She shoved the whole lot into his arms and fled into her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

The next day she decided to forgo cowardice. She would shed it like an old skin, and face whatever dangers might befall her head on. Which basically just meant she made tea in the kitchen and had the wherewithal to drink it while curled in one of the armchairs. Admittedly, it was barely sunrise. Breakfast had yet to be served. The odds of running into the disturbing Mr. Potter were as slim as she could hope. But she declared it a victory, and left it at that.

She pretended not to be aware of the time as she poured over her Charms book, searching for any options better than the one she had selected. She told herself she wouldn't fall back to the security of her bedroom when 9:00 am rolled around, and her suite-mate's emergence became more likely.

She was not prepared for him to appear at 7:00, and the little squeak she made when he did proved as much.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and mussing up his hair. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," she said, though it was a foolish lie. "If you need the room, I can-"

"You don't have to leave every time I'm in the same room as you," he mumbled, stumbling over to the couch and dropping onto it. He let his head fall back and kept his eyes closed. "I"m not going to maul you. I do have_ some _self-control."

"I didn't think you were going to maul me," she said.

"Hoped?" he asked, opening one eye.

She scoffed at him. She hoped it sounded convincing, rather than embarrassed or guilty.

He lifted his legs onto the couch, and shifted into a reclining position. He looked ready to fall asleep. "Are you really studying first thing on a Saturday?"

"No," she returned briskly. "It's a . . . project I'm doing on my own."

He snorted. "Not even studying for an actual class. You put overachievers to shame."

Lily said nothing.

He lifted his head and squinted at her. "I didn't mean that as an insult."

"No, of course not. It sounded very complimentary. I'm practically blushing."

"I like it when you blush," he said, closing his eyes again. "It's very sexy."

Lily swallowed. To her mortification, she was sure he could hear it. No wonder they called her an elephant. Could she do nothing quietly?

"No quick retort?" he asked. "Shame. I like your sharp tongue nearly as much."

Her eyes drifted toward the open door to her room. Sanctuary. She could retreat. Avoid all the awkwardness he carried with him, apparently for his own amusement.

"What are you doing up now, anyway?"

"Quidditch," he muttered. "Some nutter scheduled a practice for this morning."

"Wouldn't you be that nutter?"

"I would," he agreed, rolling over and tucking his hands under his head. "That's how I know it was a mad idea. I must have been drunk."

The last thing Lily wanted to talk about was his mad drunken ideas. She kept her mouth closed and counted the minutes before she could excuse herself without admitting cowardice.

He opened his eyes and grinned at her sleepily. "I've definitely had better ideas."

"Well, I'm sure you'll manage today," she said, speaking rapidly, and abandoning any illusions of grace. "I have to go. Finish my project. I have to go finish my project, that I'm working on. For Charms. For myself. Because, I like Charms. I'm going now."

He was laughing to himself as she quietly closed the door, pretending to be all elegance and composure.


	5. Fit

She was dreaming. Good dreams. Dreams with sparks and shivers and rough whispers in the dark. And thumps. Loud, knuckle-bruising thumps.

She came awake on a gasp, and realized the pounding wasn't part of the dream.

"Oi! E-vans," Potter called, in a sing-song voice that was anything but sexy. It reminded her of the time he'd made all her hair disappear. "Come out and plaayyy, Evans."

She tried to ignore him. Nothing good would come of opening the door. Either he had his friends in tow and was planning something horrible, or he was drunk again and feeling horny. Neither option would work out well for her. Well, the second-

She cut off that particular train of thought by slamming a pillow over her head and trying to force herself back to sleep.

"Li-ly. Li-ly. Open the door." She heard a different sound, harder, sharper. "Bloody hell! Merlin, is that blood? I think I'm bleeding, Lily. Your door just attacked me."

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Lovely. The idiot had slammed his head against the door and hurt himself. Wonderful. She prayed for patience, accepted it wasn't going to come, and crawled out of bed. She made a point of putting pants on this time, though.

When she opened the door, he was sitting with his back against the jam, holding his head. Blood dripped through his fingers and down the side of his face.

"How did you even manage that?" she asked, bending down to check the cut. It wasn't much of one, really. Just a vertical gash on the right side of his forehead. It was bleeding quite a lot though. Headwounds did that, she supposed.

She tsked at it and went to get a cloth. He smiled sloppily at her as she set about cleaning it.

"You opened the door," he said.

"I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" she responded, not bothering about being gentle.

"You were worried about me."

"I was worried about you bleeding on the carpet."

"We haven't got any carpet," he said, glancing around the room, bleary eyes struggling to focus on the hardwood floor.

"All the same." She tilted his head this way and that, trying to get a better look at the wound.

He caught one of her hands and pulled it to his mouth. "You've got very delicate fingers," he said, kissing each one in turn. "That's a thing I've noticed."

She tried to pull her hand away. "There's a reason I didn't open the door."

"But you did," he countered, grazing his teeth over her wrist.

"Only because you decided to use your head as a battering ram," she said, finally succeeding in extricating her hand from his grasp.

"I didn't!" He sounded offended. "I just tried to rest my head, but then the door jam was there, and . . . You've probably spelled it to jump in my way."

"Yes, that makes a great deal more sense than you being a drunken twat."

Rather than seeming bothered, his smile just grew and grew. "I like it when you insult me. Is that strange? That I like that?"

"Yes."

"Hmm . . ." He leaned his head back against the wall, letting his eyes fall closed.

"Oh, no. No falling asleep. You could have a concussion. I should take you to the hospital wing."

He opened his eyes and smiled sleepily at her. "You're very beautiful, you know."

"Obviously there's been some damage to your brain," she said, trying to get a look at his pupils.

"You know I think you're fit."

"I know you're drunk and hoping to get off with me because I'm here."

"That's not it at all," he mumbled. "I mean, well, yes. I'm drunk. Clearly. But I'm not hoping to . . . Did you want to?" he asked, looking suddenly hopeful.

"No," she said.

"I think you do. You've been thinking about it. It was a good kiss."

"I'm sure it was a fine kiss."

"Fi-ine," he corrected. "Otherwise it sounds like it was bad. And it's never bad with me." He winked at her, but he was too drunk to make it look anything but ridiculous. It would have been hard to pull off, regardless.

"I'm serious. You need to have someone look you over."

"You can look me over any time."

"James."

"You know what would be even better than you _saying _my name-"

"Me stabbing you in the face?"

He laughed at that, doubling over. Then, apparently because they were easily accessible, he rested his head on her legs – though folded under her, they couldn't have been very comfortable – and snuggled in to go to sleep.

"James, I'm very serious. You need to have Madam Pomfrey examine you."

"Get in trouble," he mumbled.

"You get in trouble all the time."

"Not this year," he said, trying to adjust her legs the way he might a pillow.

"I'm sure that's admirable."

"D'you admire me?" he asked, barely bothering to open his mouth to let the words out.

Giving up, she slapped him hard on the shoulder.

"Oi! What?" his eyes snapped open, no longer amiable.

"You're not falling asleep on me," she said. "And if I'm not taking you to the hospital wing, I'm going to have to try to assess the damage myself. Go sit down on the couch." She pointed as though directing an errant pupil, or a dog.

Glaring at her, he stomped over to the couch and then flung himself down on it.

"Don't-" she began, but it ended on a frustrated growl. "Brilliant. The idiot's going to do even more damage."

She marched into her room and got out a book on basic healing charms. Flipping to the section on head injuries, she found a diagnostic spell.

"You're not going to turn my hair green, are you?" he asked, holding his head again. Apparently flinging himself around had reminded him it hurt.

"Does that sound like something I would do?"

"Dunno. You might think it's a laugh."

"You would think it was a laugh, James. I don't generally run around kicking people who're vulnerable."

"You just slapped me!"

She ignored him and set about memorizing the spell and imitating the motions diagrammed in the book.

"If you're just worried about keeping me awake, I can think of something else we can-" He stopped speaking as her wand tip drew up under his neck. "Or you could do the spell. That could work too."

"I have no intention of shagging you. In fact, I'd be very grateful if you'd stop getting drunk and suggesting it. Or perhaps you could just schedule in a side visit to another tower on your way home, when you do decide to toss a few back, so you don't think I'm your only option."

He pushed the wand away in one easy motion. "I thought about that. It wouldn't work. It's you I want to shag."

"Charming."

"I am charming, thank you. You're just bloody impossible to flirt with."

She snorted. "I'm sure. You'd be an expert on that, from all the times you've tried."

"I have tried! Most of the time I can't even get in the same room as you."

"We're in the same room most of the day."

"Not in class. I'm not talking about when other people are there," he muttered, throwing his elbow over his eyes.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes. "Of course," she said. "What would they think?" She took one last look at the spell and gave it a shot. It seemed to work, and – even better – to indicate his head was perfectly fine, though well steeped in whiskey.

"Exactly." He laughed. He actually laughed. "Can you imagine Sirius' reaction?"

"Perfectly," she said. "You're fine. I'm going to bed. Try not to bleed on anything else."

"But-"

She didn't bother to listen to the rest. She cast a silencing charm on him, and another on the door, to keep out any sound. And she tried to sleep.


	6. Again

To her surprise, he was drunk again the next night. And early. She assumed, it being a Saturday, that she could stay in the common room until at least 8:30. He would be out with his friends well past then, as he had been the whole day. She'd be blessed with an entirely Potter-free day.

Until 7:30, that is, when he stumbled through the door.

"I'm not drunk," he said. Never a good sign.

Lily allowed herself one calming breath and quietly closed her book.

"Of course not," she said. "If you'll excuse me-"

"I _was _drunk last night though. And talking, a lot. Just generally being an arse, really. Don't know what I was thinking."

"Well, it's in the past now," Lily said, unwilling to tell him it was fine. Equally unwilling to get into a confrontation.

"Yeah. Alight. Yeah. Umm . . . and thanks. For patching me up. That was nice of you. With me waking you up and all. You didn't have to."

"It was nothing," she said, rising and starting toward the door. He caught her arm and pulled her around.

"The part about me thinking you were fit-"

"It's fine, James. It's not as if I'm going to run around bragging that your eyesight degenerates the more you drink."

"That's not-"

"I need to get back to work," she said, giving him a tight smile.

"Course. Yeah. Your project. Better get on that."

* * *

He knocked on her door just a little over an hour later. She had just finished casting the charm on the last of her textbooks. Setting them aside, she went to answer.

"Yes?"

He opened him mouth to say something, and then closed it again. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, cast his gaze back toward his own bedroom. She knew that look. He was contemplating retreat. She did it all the time. It was nice to have the tables turned for once.

"What is it?" she asked.

"About, before. Er. Umm . . ." his hands went back to his hair. "Er, about last night. And me thinking that you're fit-"

"We really don't need to discuss it, James."

He took a breath. His eyes locked on her face. "Yeah. You're right. That wouldn't help, would it?"

He yanked her forward by the front of her shirt, and his mouth crashed into hers. A switch flipped. She never even tried to resist. There were no thoughts of being reasonable, of remembering he wasn't someone she wanted anything to do with. All she could do was want.

He pushed her back toward the bed, never really breaking contact. His hands streaked over her, as mumbled compliments blended with curses and became absolute gibberish.

She could have put a stop to it. There was a moment, just as his fingers caught the hem of her shirt, when he paused. When he looked up at her. When he sought confirmation. Permission.

And she gave it.

* * *

She didn't expect to sleep. She probably wouldn't have. She probably would have slunk out of the room on some weak excuse. Except he hadn't really been that interested in letting her go. She was held hostage by her sex drive. Which was really unfair, given that she hadn't had one a few hours before.

First times were supposed to be bad. She was sure of it. That was a thing. Everyone knew that. Except, apparently, James Potter.

Now the sun was coming up, and he was wrapped around her like she was his life preserver. He was supposed to be a jerk. That was a thing too. He had a reputation for beating feet the moment he'd finished.

Apparently he didn't believe in meeting expectations. It shouldn't really have been a surprise.

But now she didn't have an exit strategy. They were in her room. She couldn't exactly do the walk of shame from her own room. He was the one who was supposed do it, anyway.

He would, of course. He was guaranteed to regret it the moment he woke up.

Her stomach turned. This wasn't how she'd planned her first time. She was supposed to wake up with the love of her life, somewhere romantic. He was supposed to make her breakfast.

She felt tears prick her eyes. With no better option, she buried her face in her pillow and tried to get control of herself.

When she felt lips press against her shoulder, she froze.

"Morning," he said, voice rough with sleep.

"Morning," she mumbled back, keeping her face turned away.

His lips traveled over from her shoulder to her neck. "Did you sleep alright?" he asked, between kisses.

"Yeah. Uh, fine."

His teeth grazed her back as he moved down her spinal cord. "Good."

"Weren't you supposed to sneak out in the middle of the night?" she asked. She immediately felt stupid for saying it out loud.

He chuckled. "No," he said, nipping at her lower back. "But it sounds like you thought about it." His hands drifted down, fingers moving over her thighs. "I'm a little surprised you're still here, honestly."

"It's my room," she mumbled into the pillow.

He laughed. "It is." His mouth trailed back up her back, her neck, stopping just behind her ear. "You had fun, didn't you?"

She closed her eyes. She had no idea that just his mouth on her ear could be so erotic. His fingers combed through her hair, brushed against her neck. "I don't know if 'fun' is exactly the word I would use."

"No?" he followed the single syllable up with a quick nip. "What word would you use?"

He bit her then, just hard enough to draw a moan out of her. Not enough to break the skin. Not enough to hurt her.

"We're going to do it again, aren't we?" he asked, rolling her over to face him.

"We already did it again," she said. And with nowhere else to go, she tried to hide her face against his chest.

He laughed and let himself fall onto his back, pulling her along with him. His hands stroked through her hair. "The great thing about sex is you can do it as often as you want. Well, as often as you're able, anyway. My kind, we need a little recovery time."

"I don't think I'm able," she said, refusing to look at him.

When he said nothing, she had to force herself to lift her head and take a quick peek. His face was unreadable. "Well," he said finally, tucking some hair behind her ear. "When you are, then."

She let her head drop, resting her cheek against his chest and staring at her wall.

"So why didn't you sneak out?" she asked.

His fingers drew lazy circles on her back. "Why would I?" he asked. "I was exactly where I wanted to be."

She tried to digest that, found she didn't know how.

"So what happens now?"

"Now? Whatever we want, I guess."

"What do you usually do, in these situations?"

"Me?" he asked. "I usually sneak out in the middle of the night."

She had nothing to say to that, either.

"I'd like to do this again, though. I think it could work. Neither of us are really looking for anything, and I'm sure you don't want people to find out, any more than I do."

"Yeah," she said, eyes still on the bare wall across from her. "Can't have that."


	7. Allergic

Her charm hadn't worked. Three more notes, and she'd spotted no signs of the culprit. She'd have to think of something else. The only upside was they seemed to have run out of terrifying ideas. The gravestone in the last note had been just a bit corny. Really lackluster, all around.

She sat in Potions, a few minutes before class was set to start. Only about half of the students had shown up. Lily was taking the opportunity to flip through some of Slughorn's books. She claimed mild curiosity, knowing that whether he liked her or not, he was the head of Slytherin, and to be treated with suspicion.

The Maruaders came in, laughing and shoving each other, as they always seemed to be. She didn't look at James. It always made her feel a little sick, seeing him in public. Whether he insulted her or not, it never felt good to have him ashamed of his relationship with her.

She tried to focus on the task at hand, but found it hard to concentrate. Giving up, she snapped her book shut and spun on her heel, only to slam straight into James. He steadied her instinctively. The glance toward his friends was just as knee-jerk.

"Merlin, Evans," James said, voice colder than she'd heard in a long time. "I know you're the size of a walrus, but at least you could try to look where you're going."

Sirius laughed and immediately took up a walrus impression. The barking was at least half seal, and apparently he couldn't resist adding some ridiculous clapping, but it got most of the class laughing.

Lily ignored them, put her book away, and returned to her seat. Slughorn silenced them all when he entered a few moments later and told them to open their books.

Lily opened hers to the required page. She had to hold back a scream when she found what was unmistakeably a lock of her own hair, soaked in blood.

She tried not to react. Her first instinct was to examine every strand of her hair. But then they'd see, and they'd enjoy her panic.

She glared at Sirius Black without thinking about it. After all, he was the sort to enjoy getting a rise out of a person. But the moment she focused on him, she realized she was missing a golden opportunity. So what if it might be embarrassing. They could give themselves away. She could finally have something to go on.

She closed her book and began frantically combing her fingers through her hair, looking for any thin patches. All the while, she kept her eyes peeled for anyone watching her.

The only person in the room paying her even the least bit of attention was James. That is until Sirius noticed and drew everyone's attention to her.

"Disgusting, Evans. Have you got lice then? Or is it fleas? I'm sure Madam Pomfrey could do something for you. Professor?" he called, and Slughorn turned from writing instructions on the board. "Evans has some sort of infestation. She needs to go to the hospital wing. Preferably before she passes her filth on to anyone else."

Lily froze at the word 'filth'. Maybe she shouldn't have crossed him off the list after all.

"Is this true, Lily?" he asked.

For a split-second, she thought about explaining herself, showing him the hair, proving she wasn't some dirty, flea-infested mudblood. But she knew the opposite would happen. If it turned out it was just a prank, or one pureblood maniac acting on his – or her – own, she'd just succeed in making herself a special target for the whole lot of them.

"I think I'm having an allergic reaction," she said, ignoring Sirius' snorted laughter. "I'd better go have her look at it." She grabbed her bag, shoved her book inside, and tried to leave with as much dignity as possibly, despite the booming laughter that followed her out.

* * *

To her shock, Madam Pomfrey actually excused her from her classes that day. The woman obviously thought Lily had snapped from the stress of N.E.W.T.s, but Lily didn't mind. She had the whole day to focus on finding a new way to trap her tormenter.

She scoured every book she had, but found nothing of use. Then, she broke into James' room and searched through his as well. She didn't figure he had much room to complain, after today.

When he showed up that night, he did a double-take, surprised to find her door propped open. He made no comment on her appearance, though she had transformed over the course of the day into something nearly as mad as Pomfrey took her to be.

Her hair shot out at every angle, tamed only slightly by two separate quills jammed into it. Each had enough ink dripping off of it to have stained bits of her hair black. Her face hadn't escaped the onslaught either; several streaks of ink marred it.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice devoid of its usual amusement.

"Yes. Fine. Busy."

"That's it? 'Yes. Fine. Busy.' You're not going to shout at me for being a wanker?"

"You're a wanker," she said, without much interest. "And as such, I borrowed your books without asking."

"Alright," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "Did Madam Pomfrey-"

"I haven't got fleas, James. Or whatever else your even bigger prat of a friend might have suggested."

"I take it the allergic reaction also wasn't -"

"No, I'm quite allergic. Every time I see you with your friends, I want to vomit."

"Well, that's more what I was expecting," he muttered, looking away.

"Glad I could help," Lily said, and returned to her search.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You could bugger off," Lily suggested.

"Right. Well. I'll just . . . go, then, shall I?"

Lily made a vague affirmative noise, not bothering to look up. In fact, she didn't at all until an hour later, when she needed to change books.

She paused outside his door, considered packing in her search for the night, and then rapped her knuckles against the door. He looked up from his desk, and rose immediately.

"Hi," he said, trying for nonchalant and settling on ridiculous, as he sauntered toward her. "Didn't think I'd see much of you tonight."

She shoved a book into his stomach and turned toward his desk. "I'm finished with this one. I thought I saw something in here earlier about useful household spells."

"Why would you need that?" he asked.

She waved the question away, and examined the titles scattered across his desk.

He gave it several moments, but finally walked over to his bookshelf and pulled a volume off of it. "Is this what you're looking for?"

Lily read the title, flipped through the text. "It is. This is perfect. Thanks." She turned to walk away without another word, but he caught her arm.

"I'm sorry," he said. "About what I said today. It was ridiculous. You have to know that. Walrus isn't even a very good insult."

"I'm really not-"

"It was stupid, though. I'm sorry. Really."

Lily looked down at his hand on her arm. "Are you going to let me go now?" she asked.

He stepped back, releasing her. "Of course." He folded his hands behind his back, looking oddly formal.

"Night, James. Thanks for the book."

"Goodnight, Lily."


	8. Music

What she ended up with was a very basic spell, so simple it was brilliant. Mothers the magical world over used it to catch their children sneaking cookies from cookie jars, or pinching floo powder for late night sojourns, or lifting a sickle or two from their mother's purses.

It was similar in format to the charm she had already tried, but had the advantage of working without physical contact. She should know the next time someone slipped a note – or a lock of hair – in her school books.

She skipped her last lesson of the day, to give herself some privacy. No doubt James would want to know why she'd need such a spell. She had officially added his best friend back to her list of suspects, so she had no intention of telling him anything. Not that she had planned to anyway. She had to deal with the situation on her own.

And she had. She felt sure it would work this time. So, sure, in fact, that she was in a good mood for the first time all year. A properly good mood.

She dug through her trunk until she found her carefully shrunken record player. She preferred 8-tracks at home, but couldn't get them to work at Hogwarts.

She cast the spell to return the record player to it's original size and put on one of her favorite albums. She glanced around her room and laughed. It looked like a mad woman had been living in it. Clothes were scattered everywhere. Books lay helter-skelter on top of them or buried under them. Biscuit wrappers dotted the landscape, along with no less than three mugs.

Singing along, she danced her way through tidying up. The dirty clothes went into a basket, the clean ones into her wardrobe. She sorted the books, serenading each one. She danced her way into James' room, and returned all the books she had borrowed. Then she organized her own shelf.

_I'm in the mood. The rhythm is right. _

_ Move to the music. We can roll all night. _

She doubled checked her organizational system, made sure the books were sorted by subject first, then author and title, hips shaking the whole time.

_Slow ride. Take it easy._

_ Slow ride. Take it easy. _

She picked up all her trash and tossed it in the bin. Then she gathered all the mugs – four, as she found another kicked under her bed – and started out to the kitchen.

_Slow riding woman you're so fine. _

She set about washing her dishes. She scrubbed them in rhythm with the music, singing along at the top of her voice, twisting and turning and shaking her bum.

When she turned to set the first mug out to dry, she screamed and dropped it. Potter only laughed.

"What are you doing in here?" Lily gasped out, still trying to catch her breath.

He looked around curiously. "I could swear I live here."

"You should be in class."

"So should you."

The music continued blaring in the background. Lily pressed her lips together, trying to fight down the blush. Not only had he caught her skiving off, he'd also walked in on her dancing like a maniac.

To her surprised, he looked nearly as embarrassed. "I was worried," he said. "Whatever you claimed about an allergy, you were acting odd in class the other day."

"You came to check on me."

He shrugged. "What's this?" he asked, jerking his head toward her room.

"Umm . . . me cleaning up?"

"I meant the music. But, remind me to come back to the fact that you skip lessons to clean. Because that warrants quite a lot of concern."

She felt her color rise again.

"So?" he asked. "It's muggle, right?"

Lily nodded, but didn't elaborate.

"I like it," he said, wandering toward her bedroom. "It's very loud. And . . . exciting, I guess."

"Foghat."

"I'm sorry?" his concern ratcheted up a notch. Obviously he hadn't forgotten her pitch perfect impression of a crazy cat lady the night before.

"Umm . . . The band. It's Foghat. That's the name of it."

"Bit of an odd name."

Lily shrugged. "I suppose. They're all a bit odd, though. The Rolling Stones? Creedence Clearwater Revival? Lynyrd Skynyrd?" She thought it over for a minute. "I guess the Rolling Stones makes some sense, when you think about it. Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers? That seems like a reasonable name for a band, I guess."

He was watching her, more curious than concerned now. "Are you going to play them all for me?"

"No," she shook her head, reminding herself she had no reason to be nervous around him. So, he was popular, and she wasn't. So, she had made the very foolish decision to sleep with him, and then do it again, and again. That was done now. _She_ had been the one to stop it. He should be nervous around her.

Except that clearly wasn't the case.

"Why not?" he asked, strolling into her room as though he was perfectly welcome. She tried to glare at him, but he only grinned in response. "I'd like to hear them."

"I'm not going to play you every bit of muggle music there is."

"Of course not," he said, walking over to her record player. "I just want to hear The Rolling Stones. And Tom Penny and the Heartbreakers. And Leonard Skinner. And whatever that other one you said was. The long one."

"Creedance Clearwater Revival."

"Yeah. Let's start there."

Lily could only stare at him. "I'm mad at you."

He cocked his head, exaggerating his speculative look. "You don't _seem_ like you're mad at me."

"I was in a good mood!"

"Excellent. Why don't you share it with me?"

"Because you'll ruin it for me."

He picked the needle up, curious when the music cut off. "No," he said. "I don't think I will. I promise not to be an arse." He looked up and grinned at her. "You like me when I'm not being an arse."

"I don't know what gave you that idea," she said.

"Shagging me was a pretty big hint."

She didn't have to fake a glare this time.

"I was a wanker before. I've said I'm sorry. And anyway, I'm not asking you to shag me. I'm asking you to educate me." He blinked wide, innocent eyes at her. No wonder he never got in trouble. "Will you really turn me down when I'm asking for help? I just want to understand muggle culture."

"Mock it is more likely," Lily muttered.

"No," he said, looking disturbed by the comment. "Not at all. I wasn't taking the mickey, before. I really did like the sound of that." He sent a smoldering look her way. "I liked the dancing too, but since you've taken shagging off the table, I'll focus on the music. Which we can enjoy on an completely platonic level."

One Creedence album and half a Tom Petty song. That was exactly how long it took him to get her back into bed.


	9. Dancing

"I thought you weren't looking to shag," Lily mumbled rolling away from him later that night. Her stomach wanted to rumble. They had slept through dinner.

"I'm a bloke. I'm always looking to shag." He wrapped an arm around her and dragged her back against his body. "You started this one, though."

"I did not!"

"Mmhhmmm . . ." he mumbled, nuzzling her neck. "Lots of long looks. Little head tilts. Biting your lip. Looking like you wanted to bite _my_ lips."

"I wasn't doing that," she whispered, mortified.

He laughed. "Course you were. Nothing wrong with that." He loosened his hold, and – against her better judgment – she turned and curled against his chest. "I'm just saying you can't blame me for it, when you were there too. And sending me lots of lovely little signals."

Lily said nothing, just took a long breath and closed her eyes. He stroked his fingers through her hair.

"It's not _that_ bad, is it?" he asked.

"It's fine up here."

She could see him out of the corner of her eyes, staring up at the ceiling.

"You're obviously nothing like a walrus. It was a stupid thing to say, but you shouldn't take it all to heart."

Lily didn't respond. They had already had this conversation. She knew perfectly well it had nothing to do with the word "walrus." It was the absolute certainty that he would do it again, or something like it, that bothered her. And didn't seem to bother him in the least.

He sat up, pulling her with him and out of the bed. "Come on. We haven't finished my lessons." She hated that he smiled at her like that. Like he was someone she could trust. Someone she could care about. Someone she could be herself with.

"We already did that," she said, pulling away and starting to dress.

"We started. Starting and finishing are two very different things, as my mother likes to say."

Lily gave him a dirty look for mentioning his mother when she hadn't yet put her knickers on. He grinned in response.

"And, I want to dance," he added.

"What happened to just listening to the music, which we could do platonically?"

He looked at her, looked at the shirt she was picking up off the floor, looked at her again, and raised one dark eyebrow. One side of his mouth turned up in a half smile.

"Yes. Fine. That was stupid," she said, waving it away and pulling on the shirt.

"I think the dancing would be better without the shirt," he commented, "but I'm willing to compromise."

"How magnanimous of you," Lily said.

He laughed. "I thought so, yes." He wandered over to her record player, without bothering to dress.

"Aren't you going to . . ." she suggested, gesturing to his clothes.

Another grin flashed. "If you'd like."

She rolled her eyes, and he pulled on pants.

"Better?" he asked.

She didn't bother to respond.

"What's next then?" he asked, catching her hand and towing her along to the record player. He looked through the albums next to it, drawn in by the more colorful covers.

"I bet you'd like Skynyrd," she said. "But it's probably not the best to dance to. Let's do the Stones."

She selected an album, even picked her track. She could tell he liked it immediately. The guitar played a simple tune, while the drums beat out a steady rhythm.

_If you start me up. _

_ If you start me up, I'll never stop._

She pulled him closer, surprised when he was game to dance right off the bat. When it got to the part about making a grown man cry, he threw his head back and laughed.

"Shut it," she said, pushing him away.

"I don't understand any of the rest of this," he said, pulling her back in, "but I think it fits you."

"That's not actually insulting," she said.

"Didn't mean it to be." He spun her, even though it didn't really fit with the music. "You'd drive a sane man out of his mind."

"You should be fine then."

He laughed and pulled her closer. "I wasn't crazy before I met you."


	10. Sketches

It didn't work. She couldn't understand it. She was sure she had done everything right. But for all the spell told her, no one was tampering with her book. Which would have been great, had it been true. Unfortunately, she'd gotten two more notes.

She glanced over at James, whose schoolwork was spread across the table in the common room.

"James?"

"Hmmm . . ." He didn't look up. Short of flashing him, there were times half his attention was all she could get. It could work to her advantage in this situation, though.

"I noticed in that book I borrowed, that magic mum's have a spell they can do, to catch their little ones knicking sweets. Did your mum ever use that?"

"Yeah," he said. "I don't know why though." His focus was still on his essay.

"It seems like a good idea to me."

"You're a muggle."-

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He did look up now, probably because she sounded so pissed.

"It would work on a muggle, because they wouldn't know how to get round it. As soon as you get even a little control of your magic, you can work around that one. I don't even know why they'd have put it in that book. It's useless on anyone over six or so."

"Truly?"

"Yeah," he said. He kept his eyes on her, trying to puzzle it out. "Has someone been knicking your sweets, then?"

"Only you."

"The biscuits are _ours, _Lily. Just because you eat them all, doesn't meant they were all meant for you."

She stuck her tongue out at him, relieved when he didn't press further. The mild relief couldn't make up for the massive disappointment that flowed with it. The spell hadn't worked, and never would have. She'd have to find another way to catch whoever it was.

* * *

Lily sat in Defense Against the Dark Arts, trying to glean something from the lessons that would help her. It should have been the likeliest subject. Except nobody was using Dark Arts on her. They were tormenting her through notes. That was it. Stupid notes. She should just ignore them. She just made it all bigger, trying to catch the person responsible. She let them win.

Or perhaps doing nothing would be letting them win. She had to catch them at it! She could manage it. Head Girl, first in her class, all without any advantages in the wizarding world. She could catch a stupid prankster.

She glanced up as Sirius Black nudged James and showed him something. Her attention sharpened. It looked like a sketch.

Could James have been involved all along?

She watched him closely, measuring his response. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Black's face fell.

James glanced back toward Lily, who pretended she hadn't been watching. Then he leaned over and pointed at the drawing, whispering something to his friend.

Sirius laughed, and returned to sketching with renewed vigor. James slumped down in his chair and went back to reading over the work their professor had assigned.

Lily chewed on her thumbnail, trying to think of ways to get a look at the drawing. It turned out she needn't have worried. Sirius was happy to show her, the moment the teacher stepped out of the room.

"Oi. Evans. We can't decide which is best. I liked the pig, but James thinks the cow suits better. He might be right. With bigger lips, the resemblance is striking. Coloring is all off, though. Black and white doesn't really fit a ginger, does it? Can't have it all, though, can we? But tell me, which one do you think is more _you_?"

He displayed two drawings, one of her as a cow, the other of her as a pig. They should have been ridiculous. They shouldn't have bothered her at all. Perhaps it wouldn't have, had he just slapped her face on the animals. But he hadn't. He had managed to blend the two, create a version of her that was recognizably her, combined with a cow. Or a pig. She could take her pick.

She dug her fingernails into her palm and reminded herself to use the opportunity. She stared hard at the sketches, trying to focus through blurry eyes. Were there any similarities between his style and the drawings slotted into her textbooks? She thought so, but maybe it was just her anger talking.

She saw James glance at her out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't laughing along with the rest of the class. He looked just a little bit miserable. She could see the eraser marks around the lips of cow-Lily. She remembered him pointing at the sketch and saying something. She remembered Sirius adjusting the drawing. He must have told his friend her lips were bigger than Sirius had drawn them originally.

"I like the pig better, personally," she said, without emotion. And she went back to her work. Or she pretended to, as the Professor returned from his errand. Really, she sat wondering if Sirius was behind all of it. Wondering if James knew. Wondering why she cared, when he obviously wasn't worth it.


	11. Wreckage

Lily skipped two lessons that afternoon. She thought she had kept it together fairly well in class, but the whole year had been getting to her. The cookie-jar spell failing – the fact that it had never had a shot – that had been a pretty big blow. Adding today's humiliation on top of it was simply too much.

She marched straight into her room, slammed the door behind her, and began smashing things. She flung her wand against the wall first. She tipped over her record player, and chucked each and every record at the far wall. Mug after mug crashed into the wall and joined the growing rubble covering her floor.

Then she stomped over, snatched up her wand, and took the room apart with her magic.

When the anger finished boiling over, it poured out as tears. She collapsed onto her bed, shaking and crying, clawing at her own skin to try to make it all stop.

She had settled into quiet weeping by the time James arrived. He opened the door without knocking. She should have thought to lock it.

She wanted to scream at him to get out, but was afraid of what would happen if she lost control again.

"Lily," he said, barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

She turned away from him, choking on her sobs.

He crawled onto the bed behind her. She lashed out at him, throwing her arms and elbows backwards, hoping to connect somewhere it would hurt. He captured them, and pinned them to her side, sliding in behind her and holding her tightly.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It was stupid. I thought it was stupid. I didn't think it was funny. I didn't like it. I didn't want anything to do with it."

"You helped," she choked out.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He just kept repeating the phrase, holding onto her as she wept.

* * *

She must have fallen asleep, though she couldn't imagine how she could have done so, feeling as she had, and having him that close to her.

When she woke, his weight was gone. She rolled over, and found him sitting on the floor, notes spread out around him. She could recognize them all at a distance, she had stared at each so long. The tombstone, her dressed as a house elf with shackles on her feet, the sketch from the library. Even her lock of hair.

"What is this, Lily?"

She shot out of bed. "It's nothing. It's none of your business. Why were you even going though my things?" She was shouting at him, knew she was beyond reason. Her anger over his behavior and that of her tormentor were blending into one blinding, burning fury.

"I was going to clean everything up." His voice was completely empty of emotion. "When I went to pick up the books . . ." He trailed off, staring around at the notes in stupefied horror.

"GET OUT!" Lily screamed. "It's none of your business. It has nothing to do with you. Stay out of my things. Stay out of my room. STAY OUT OF MY LIFE!"

He just blinked up at her, unmoving. "How long has this been going on?"

She leapt out of bed, and began throwing things at him. "Get out!"

He deflected each missile with absent-minded flicks of his wand. "Lily. You need to go to Dumbledore. This is serious."

She snorted. "You're the last person who gets to tell me that."

"There's a difference between being a wanker and threatening someone because they're muggleborn."

"Really? I haven't noticed much of one. You and your friends like to make me cry. They like to scare me. Sounds pretty similar to me."

His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. He shook his head once, sharply. "It's not the same thing. We-"

"Do you think this," she gestured at the wreckage around her, "was about those notes? I've been dealing with that all year. The Death Eaters and their little proteges aren't who caused this."

"All year?" he repeated. He looked down at the bloody hair and then at her own red locks. "That's why you panicked in class."

Lily rolled her eyes. "I wasn't _really_ panicking. I'm not that weak, whatever you might think. I just wanted to see if it was someone in the room. I thought they might give themselves away, if I freaked out a little bit."

"I don't think you're weak," he said, automatically.

She snorted. Her breath caught on the way out, emotions rising. "Will you please just go?" she asked, tears springing to her eyes.

"I don't think you're weak," he repeated. "None of us ever did. You were bossy. And you follow rules. And we break them. And so we didn't like you, and we, sort of, wanted to . . ."

"Teach me a lesson?" she supplied, swiping a hand under her nose, and nodding toward the notes. "Seems to be a common theme."

"It's not the same thing," he repeated. His voice was dull, his eyes just a little blank. He stayed there, on the floor, gaze trained on the Rorschach note. He must have seen the same thing she did, or something similar. "You need to go to Dumbledore," he repeated, voice deadened.

"I'll handle it," she said, each word clipped. "I'd like you to leave now. And I know it's not exactly in your makeup, but I'd appreciate it if you would let me decide how to deal with this."

He looked up, met her eyes, looked away. For a second, she thought his looked wet, just a little wet. "OK," he said. "I could help, if you want."

"No, thank you."

He raised himself into a crouched position. "I'll help you clean up."

"I'd really like you to go, James," she said, voice breaking again.

He opened his mouth, closed it again. This time she was sure there was a sheen across his eyes. "Ok," he said. Slowly, he rose and walked out of the room, closing the door with a soft snick.


	12. Heroes

Lily didn't think through the implications of James knowing about the notes until dinner time. She was rationalizing avoiding the Great Hall when she realized who would be down there. And that James had never kept a secret from them in his life.

She rushed out of her room and over to his, surprised to find his door open. She slowed to a halt, and looked in at him. He was sitting on his bed, head in his hands, completely still. She waited for him to look up, but he didn't move.

"James?"

His head snapped around, eyes meeting hers. The surprise on his face was unmistakable. "Yeah," he said, standing up. He started to fold his hands, then changed his mind and stuck them in his pockets. After a moment, he pulled them out and laced his fingers together. "Yes? Are you alright?"

She almost smiled.

"They're not going to attack me in my bedroom, James."

"They might," he said, oozing sincerity. "They're very dangerous, Lily. You can't underestimate them."

"Right," she said, taking a deep breath. "On a . . . related note. Have you told anyone, yet? About the notes."

"The threats, you mean."

"I don't think we can really call them threats, exactly."

"They sent you your own hair covered in blood. I think we can call it a threat."

"Well," she looked down at her hands, back up at him. "Have you told anyone yet?"

"No," he said. "You asked me to let you decide what to do about it."

"But, your friends, I mean. Have you told them yet?"

He held her gaze, shook his head slowly. "No."

"Oh good," she breathed. "Could you not?" her voice went up quite a lot on the sentence. She cleared her throat, uncomfortable.

"If you'd like."

"I'd like. Or, I'd not like, if you did. Tell them. Which is to say . . ." She took another deep breath. "I would really prefer that you not tell anyone. Including, but not limited to, your friends."

"Ok."

"But especially don't tell your friends," she added, unable to help herself.

"They would never use that against you, Lily. If I told them, I'm sure they'd feel as shit as I do."

"Yeah. Maybe," she said, looking away. "But, still, maybe just don't mention it."

His gaze sharpened, turned uncertain. "You don't think they-"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm not saying it's them. I just, I don't want to give anything away, to anyone. I don't know who it is. I don't even really have anything to go on."

"Whoever is sending you those is a Death Eater or wants to be. Supports them. My friends aren't like that."

"OK," she said, easing away. "That's fine. I'd just, I'd still rather you didn't say anything." Her face must have shown her distrust, the awareness that he would probably tell them, whether she wanted him to or not.

"I won't say anything," he said. "And, if I was going to tell someone, it would be Dumbledore. Or my father. Someone who could actually do something about it."

"Well, let's not do that either."

He was silent. Thinking they might be finished, Lily started to ease away from the door.

"Will you tell me why you won't ask for help? It's not like telling tales on someone. What they're doing is unacceptable. It's a crime."

"It's commonplace, these days. I read the Daily Prophet, James. There are editorials all the time, letters from readers, God, even the news articles. They all make it perfectly clear what people think of my kind."

"And they're fools. It doesn't change the law."

Lily pressed her lips together. "Give it time," she said.

"You can't possibly believe they would ever really enact the things they're pushing for. We would never allow it."

"Who's 'we' James? The purebloods? The elite? The powerful? Most people in those circles don't think too highly of mudbloods."

"Don't call yourself that."

"Oh, God. It's a word. It's a stupid word. My blood isn't any dirtier than anyone else's. There's nothing wrong with muggles. They're bright, and healthy, and decent people. It doesn't change the fact that a significant portion of your world thinks I'm something filthy."

"It's your world too, and it's not as significant as you think."

She snorted. "Only one of us has lived as a muggleborn in it."

He fell silent again, and she glanced back toward her bedroom. They were going in circles. She'd made it clear she didn't want him to say anything. It was all she could do.

He sat down again, stared at his laced fingers. "Do you think I acted the way I did, because of your birth?"

She sighed. "I think you acted the way you did because you're a wanker. You treat a lot of people that way. Purebloods and halfbloods and mudbloods alike."

"Yeah," he said, eyes on his hands again. He didn't seem consoled by the answer, but she guessed it wasn't a particularly comforting one.

She started to walk away, and then turned back. "Oh my God. I can't believe I'm going to say this right now." She stared up at the ceiling, furious with both of them. "Ugh. I can't believe I'm trying to make you feel better."

"You don't need-

"You're not a Death Eater, James. I mean, obviously you're not a Death Eater. Or, at least, I don't think you are. You could be fooling me, I suppose-"

"I'm not a bloody Death Eater!"

"That's what I was saying! You're a right bastard a lot of the time. Most of the time, really. But you're an equal opportunity bastard. And you wouldn't ever _kill_ anyone, or anything. You just, I don't know, bully them."

He choked out a laugh. "Merlin. That was you trying to make me feel better? I must be a bastard."

Lily didn't really know how to respond. "You can be nice, sometimes. Honestly, that sort of only makes it worse. It's one thing for someone who hates you to treat you like dirt, but if they claim to like you – at least some of the time – it hurts a lot more."

"Yeah," he said.

"But you're not a Death Eater. I don't think anyone would ever confuse you with them."

He laughed, a brittle sound, just a bit desperate. "Not a Death Eater. Maybe I can get them to write that on my tombstone, so people know what sort of person I was."

Lily shoved her hair away from her face, torn. She refused to stroke his ego, when he really had been a wanker to her for years. But she felt guilty, looking at him. He spoke before she could come up with a response.

"You know when you hear stories, as a kid, and you imagine yourself as the hero?" he said, eyes cast down toward the floor.

Lily said nothing.

"I'm not the hero, am I?" he asked, looking up at her.

She just stared at him.

"That's what I thought."

"Heroes aren't born heroes, James. They become heroes. Usually because something horrible happens to them. Which I don't wish on you, just to be clear." She let out a breath. "What I'm saying is, people just sort of . . . coast, for a while. And some people just keep coasting, never really thinking about who they want to be. But others do. You can choose who you want to be, James. You can be whatever sort of person you have it in your head to be."

"How often do people really go from villain to hero?"

"You're talking about stories, James. Stories for children, no less. They're always black and white. That's not the world we live in. We live in technicolor." She scrubbed frustrated hands through her hair. "So you don't like who you've been? Be different."

"It's not that easy."

"Why would you think it would be easy?"

He stared up at her, held her gaze. "You know, in my head, I would fight him. Voldemort. I think I could. I don't know if I could win," he dropped his eyes. "But I would fight." He turned his hands over, stared at his empty palms. "But I can't even figure out how to tell Sirius to shut it. I'm convinced I'll stand up to the darkest wizard of our age, but I'm too much of a coward to . . . I can't even . . ."

"Sometimes it's harder, with friends. I doubt you care what Voldemort thinks of you. I know you care what Sirius Black does."

"I care what you think, too."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that. It seemed like a symptom of the problem, rather than a solution. "Maybe it's best to focus on what you think of yourself."

"Yeah."

Lily started to walk away, but paused, and looked back at him. "Nobody holds a toddler accountable for the fits they threw." He snorted out a laugh, but she remained serious. "I mean it. It's just part of growing up. Nobody is going to blame you if you weren't the perfect teenager. The trick is to get past it."

"Yeah." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, messing it up. She tried not to laugh, since he looked so sincere about the whole conversation. She held her reaction to a slight smile.

"You're not done yet, is what I'm saying." She held his gaze for an extra second. Then she turned and walked back to her room. A glance in his direction showed him sitting on his bed, utterly still.


	13. Closer

Lily didn't know whether their conversation would have any impact. He had seemed moved by the whole experience, but memories were short.

When she saw him in their common room, he made a point of interacting with her. He chatted, he joked, he inquired about her day. Friendly was the order of the day.

To her surprise, he didn't try to get her back into bed.

In class, he seemed to have forgotten the very meaning of the word fun. Every time she looked at him, he sat silently, bent over his book, working furiously on the assignment. He had to feel his friends looking at him, wondering where the sudden work ethic came from.

Several times, she saw them try to get his attention. Sirius elbowed him, shoved a sketch under his nose, and bristled at the absent-minded rebuff he received. Lily knew perfectly well there was nothing casual about the reaction. He hadn't figured out how to come out and say he didn't like whatever it was, so he just ignored it.

That seemed to be his solution with his friends as well. He had been avoiding them in his free time, no question. As soon as class ended, James setup shop in the common room. He ate dinners in their little kitchen, spent his evenings reading or studying. Lily doubted he had seen his friends in more than a week.

She wanted to tell him hiding didn't really solve the problem, but decided it wasn't her place. He was trying. He needed to find the best path for himself.

Lily sat in her room, searching through library books. She had taken to checking out the optional books for her N.E.W.T. classes, hoping to find something helpful in them. There had to be a tracking spell of some sort that could help her.

She looked up at a knock on her door. James stood in the doorway, trying to look casual.

"Hi," she said, turning to face him. She had made a solid effort to be welcoming over the last week. He deserved that much, at least, for wanting to change.

"Hey." His hands slipped into his pockets. She used to think it was a sign of his arrogance. Now she was fairly sure it was a nervous gesture.

"What's up?"

"I was just thinking, and only if you're OK with it. I could always buy my own. If you showed me how, anyway. I'd need a little help, picking one out, but . . . maybe that would be best. I don't want to take-"

"James," Lily broke in, and he stopped short. "Why don't you start with the question itself?"

"Oh. Yeah. Umm . . . Your record player. I was wondering if you'd be willing to put it in the common room. But, I can just get one of my own. I'm sure I can figure out how to-"

"That's fine, James. We can move it out there."

"But then you wouldn't have one in your room," he pointed out, unnecessarily.

Lily shrugged. "I'd have one in the common room. It's loud enough to reach my room. And it's not like you have your own records. You'll be playing something I like one way or the other."

"Right. That's true."

"Here. I'll move it out now." She got up, ignoring his awkward protests, and picked up the machine. She carried it out to the common room, despite his many pleas that he should be the one to do it.

"Come here. I'll show you the spell to work it." It was a very simple one, the sort he had probably learned as a child to spin a top. He got it right on his first try.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "And if you miss it, just let me know. I'd be happy to buy one." His hands slid into his pockets again, making her smile.

"It's not a problem." She walked over to her room, grabbed her box of records, and carted it out to the common room as well.

"I'm sorry. I should have thought to-"

"It's fine, James."

"It's very nice of you," he said.

She waved it away.

"Can I help with anything, as a sort of thank you?" he offered.

She sent him a suspicious look. "Did you have me do all this, just to have a reason to offer to help with the notes again?"

"No," he put up both hands, shook his head. "I was just thinking I'd like to repay you somehow. If you could use help with that, I'd be happy to. Ecstatic, really. I mean, I'd really, really like to get that sorted out. Whoever is responsible for those should be in Azkaban. No question. But-"

He broke off, because Lily was laughing.

"Why is that funny?" he asked. His hands made the familiar trip between his hair and his pockets, making her laugh harder.

"I never realized you were the babbling sort, is all."

"I wasn't babbling," he said, affronted.

"Mmhhmm. Pretty sure you were." She went over to the cupboards and pulled out a packet of biscuits, offering him one.

"I don't babble."

"Just a bit. It's alright," she grinned at him. "It's kind of endearing."

He looked torn. Half of him obviously wanted to work with endearing, since it was undeniably a positive description. The other half looked even more offended.

"Endearing, huh?" he said. He took a step toward her.

"Kind of," she clarified. "_Kind of_ endearing."

"So, if I babbled a lot . . ."

"You'd sound like an idiot." She sent him a cheeky grin, and spun back toward her room, but he caught her and pulled her back to him.

"I can work with that too," he said, mouth descending on hers. He lifted her up onto the counter. She knew she should have told him to stop. He would have, of course. But she didn't. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer.


	14. Alike

Lily set yet another book aside. Nothing. Again. How could she have read so many books – Potions books, Charms books, Defense Books, even Transfiguration books – and not have even one offer her a solution?

She listened to Simple Man blast from the common room for the hundredth time. Apparently James was a Skynyrd fan.

She glanced toward her door, and bit her lip. He might be able to help. And he had offered. Several times. It was foolish of her not to make use of such a willing aide.

She slipped into the common room, grinning from ear to ear at the sight she found. James was lying on the couch, rocking an air guitar to rival the finest muggles.

She watched him finish out the song. When the next track started, he got up to replay Simple Man. He paused, seeing her watching him.

"Hi," he said. His hands drifted down to his pockets. He rocked back on his heels. "It's, uh. It's not too loud, is it?"

"It's fine," she said, still smiling.

"I know I looked ridiculous." He tried to shrug the embarrassment off, had little success.

"Adorable, actually," she said. "Just a little bit." She leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

Surprise and pleasure showed clearly on his face. "In that case, you should see my Free Bird."

She dropped onto the couch next to him. He followed her lead, sitting back down without changing the song.

"I thought about your offer."

He smirked at her. "Which offer." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

She smacked him casually on the arm. "The one to help with the notes."

"Oh." All innuendo evaporated. "Sure. Yeah. Anything."

"I just . . . wondered if you had any ideas, of how I could track the notes."

"Why don't you tell me what you've tried?" he suggested. "Actually, why don't you tell me everything? When the notes started, how you get them, how often, all of that."

She hesitated. "And it'll just be between us."

"Yes," he said, though he still looked disturbed at the request. "It isn't Sirius, I'm sure of that. But I won't say anything to anyone. You have my word."

She bit her lip, considering. "Alright," she said. And she told him everything she could remember.

"Have you had any encounters, in person, that were similar?" he asked, when she had finished.

"The closest is Sirius." At James' look, she rushed to explain. "I don't mean it's the same. I mean, it's a combination of insults and drawings. And he _has_ used the word "filth" quite often, which has come up, once or twice, in the notes.

James sighed. "It isn't him," he said. He stared at her for a long time. She knew him well enough to be sure he wasn't really looking at her, but at something she couldn't see. "He'd hate me telling you this. Telling anyone really. But, I think it's best you know _why_ I'm so sure it's not him."

Lily gave him her full attention.

"You're right about his family. They're very . . . old-fashioned. Really horrible, actually. All of them. Maybe he would have been like that; I don't know. But being in Gryffindor, I think that changed things for him. Let him see another side." He stared blankly into the distance. "They're – his family, that is – they think Voldemort has the right idea." He shook his head. "Idiots. Anyway, Sirius doesn't. And I guess it came to a head, a while back. Regalus was talking about wanting to join them, when he finishes school, and his parents thought it was a great idea. Very brave. Very selfless." He sounded disgusted.

"Sirius," he continued, "thought it was stupid. He told Regalus as much. That he'd get himself killed, and for what? Some wanker that's half as human as the people he's raging against." James smiled slightly at that. "That's a quote. I guess his mother was very offended by the word 'wanker'." He shook his head. "Anyway, he left. Walked out. They disowned him, I guess. They're not a very forgiving family. And he hasn't been back since."

Lily didn't know what to say.

"Which is why I'm so sure it's not Sirius. I mean, I'd be sure anyway, because he doesn't care about that crap. But after what happened with his family, I promise you can be sure too."

"OK," she said, biting her nails. "I'll look elsewhere." She hesitated, not wanting to upset him. "But I'd really rather you still keep it to yourself. Even if it's not him, I don't trust him not to . . ." She shrugged helplessly. "Do something unfortunate with the information."

James sighed. After a moment, he nodded. "I guess that's fair. Anyway, I won't tell anyone. You wanted that to be your choice, so it is."

"Thanks."

He tapped on his knee for a moment. "That's it, though? No attacks in the halls? Nothing in person?"

"I get called mudblood, often enough, but that's about it. Nothing really sinister."

"Who calls you that?" he half-rose, ready to march off and handle them himself.

"Half the school, James. It's been that way for ages."

The information deflated him. "Really? I've never noticed."

She shrugged. "You wouldn't, would you? It's not as though it would ever be directed at you."

"Well, we should make a list, of people who've said it to you."

"They're all on my list of suspects. As well as I can remember, anyway."

"Snivellus is on there, right?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't call him that."

"You're going to defend _him?_"

"I'm not defending him. I just don't like you calling him that. And yes, he's on there too."

"Good," he muttered.

"Why do you hate him so much, anyway?"

"I've never met anyone so . . . enamored of the dark arts." James shivered, disgusted. "What's there to like about him?"

She shrugged. "He used to be nice. Still can be, honestly." She glanced at James, and away again.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Say it."

"No."

"Lily."

"No. It's just going to start a fight."

"Well, now you have to tell me." His teeth were clenched, his fists closed.

"Fine," she snapped. "He's a little like you, really. To my mind."

Fury poured off him in waves. "How is that?" he growled.

"You're both nice to me in private."

"The reverse being that we're both bastards in public."

"You more than him, actually. Historically speaking, anyway."

"Lovely. That's just fantastic. So, on my tombstone, it should really read: 'Not a death eater, but still a bit worse than Severus _Bloody_ Snape.' Wonderful."

She sighed. "I said historically. He's gotten worse over the years. You seem to be getting better."

"Seem to be."

"Well, yes. Push hasn't really come to shove yet, has it?"

"What is it that you want me to do, exactly?"

"I don't want you to do anything. I'm just saying, before you run around acting all high and mighty, you might think whether you have the right to be."

"I don't do dark magic!" he shouted.

"Maybe part of that is because no one has ever made you feel weak enough to need it!" she yelled back.

"So you're blaming _me_ for him being a monster?"

"NO!" She took a breath. "No," she said, much more calmly. "No. I'm not doing that. I'm saying, I think sometimes people turn to that sort of thing because they want to find a way to be stronger. Because they feel powerless. You've never felt that way, James. I'm not sure you have any right to judge them."

"Especially when I'm one of the ones who makes them feel powerless? That's the other half of that, right?"

"I suppose that's part, yeah. Have you ever thought who Severus might be if you'd befriended him, instead of bullying him?"

"An even bigger bastard, apparently."

She sighed. "I'm explaining myself poorly."

"I think you're explaining yourself perfectly. It's crystal clear, what you think of me."

"Is it? Because I'm not even sure what I think of you. It seems a little hard to believe you would know."

He snorted.

"All I was trying to say was that I would prefer you not call him that. That's it, James. I wasn't trying to defend him. I wasn't trying to insult you. I was just asking you not to call him that. That's it."

"Fine."

She rubbed her hands over her face, started to rise. "This was stupid. I'll just-"

"No, don't. I'm sorry." He caught her arm.

"James."

"I want to help. I do. I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine. You're upset. You're allowed to be upset."

"Good, so, we're fine now. You said what you thought, I said what I thought, we move on. And you let me try to help you."

She sat back down. "Don't you think this situation is a little . . . fraught. It's like we're walking through a mine-field and expecting not to get blown up."

"That didn't really make any sense to me. Is that a muggle saying?"

She blinked at him, surprised. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry. It's like . . . I don't know the wizard equivalent. Basically, we're bound to have things work out badly."

"No, we're not. We just need to be adults about it. I won't call him Sni-" He cut himself off. "I'll call him Snape. Problem solved."

"Until there's another problem."

"And if there is, we just talk about it."

"Fight about it."

He shrugged. "Fighting is just talking, but a bit louder."

She laughed. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm trying to be mature here. Go with it."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, sensed his surprise. "Fine."

His arm came up around her slowly, cautiously. She thought he would say something, but he just rested his chin on her head. They'd finish talking about the notes later.


	15. Defense

Lily got to her Defense class a full fifteen minutes early. She went straight to the bookshelf in the back, selected a likely volume, and started combing through it.

They hadn't come up with a plan yet. They had talked about every encounter she'd ever had with anyone remotely prejudiced. He had looked over her list of suspects, annoyed to find his friends on it. He had stared for a long time at his name, where it was crossed out. She had tried to snatch the list back, but he wouldn't let her. He claimed it was good she'd crossed him out at least, but she could tell it stung that he'd ever been added to the list.

He had begun checking books out of the library, and they spent at least as much time looking for spells that could help her as they did on homework, or studying for N.E.W.T.s. She kept offering him an out, guilty that his own marks might suffer from helping her.

She felt sure that they would find something soon, buoyed by his confidence in them.

She skimmed the book, surprised when the next people through the door were Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black. Never a good sign.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the perfect Miss Evans." Black sauntered over and leaned against a desk near her. "You've certainly been working hard this term, Evans."

"I suppose I have," she said, trying not to engage with him, but afraid to exacerbate the situation by ignoring him.

"Been running poor James ragged as well, haven't you?"

Lily glanced up, looked away again. "I imagine he can make his own decisions in that regard."

"I feel bad for him, really," Sirius said, examining his nails. "Not only is he stuck being Head Boy, having all that boring crap to deal with. He's also got to put up with you right next door."

"We all have our crosses to bear." She flipped to the next page, though she hadn't finished reading the one she was on.

"We had a theory," Sirius said. "About what's been keeping him. Studying has never really been a priority of his. Peter think he's sleeping." He glanced at his friend, rolled his eyes. "Because that's what Peter does, every chance he gets."

Lily didn't laugh, though she thought he was expecting one.

"But then I got to thinking about it," he continued. "He _has_ looked a bit tired lately. Maybe he hasn't been getting enough sleep. Maybe you've been keeping him up at night."

Students began filtering in, but the Professor hadn't arrived yet.

"So then I thought, how would that work, exactly? He can't stand you, so you're obviously not _together._ Then we thought maybe you're in your room, shagging, and keeping him up at night with all the noise." He did an impression of a pig squealing. "I could see how that would be hard to sleep through."

Lily did her best to ignore him.

"But, then Peter asked a very adroit question. Unusual for Peter, I know. He wondered who would possibly have low enough standards to shag you. A very good question."

Lily's face burned. A quick scan of the room showed she was the center of attention. Remus Lupin stood by the door, looking indecisive and uncomfortable. James hadn't arrived yet. A tiny part of her was thankful. She knew he'd just stand there, next to Lupin, doing nothing. And she'd hate him for it.

"We couldn't think of anyone, in the whole school, who would want to shag you. But then we realized, you probably know that. You're probably in there with a cucumber, just squealing away." He did another pig impression, and had the class in stitches. "So we wanted to ask you, as friends-"

"What are you doing?" James had spoken from the door.

"We were just asking Evans here to let you get a little sleep. I'm sure the cucumber would appreciate the rest as well."

More snickers filled the classroom, but James didn't laugh.

"Leave her alone, Sirius," he said. He walked over and dropped his bag by the desk behind Lily, slid into the seat.

The laughter died off, replaced by an awkward silence. The whole room looked stunned, Sirius flabbergasted. Remus, by the door, studied James with an unreadable expression on his face.

The professor walked in before Sirius could respond. As he began to lecture, James leaned forward and asked Lily if she was alright. She nodded, once, quickly, not entirely sure it was true.


	16. Don't

When class ended, James helped Lily gather her things. He must have been as conscious of his friends' stares as she was, but he gave no sign of it as he walked her out.

"Just ignore him. I don't know why he's being such a twat."

"They think I'm keeping you away from them," Lily offered.

James shot her a look, glanced away. "Yeah," he said. "I've been avoiding them."

"I've noticed."

"I'm sorry. If I'd known-"

"It's not your fault," Lily said. She desperately wanted to flee to her room. The humiliation still burned. "Anyway," she said, giving him a tight smile. "You stopped him, so that's something."

"Yeah," he said. "Apparently I should have come to class earlier."

She shrugged and started to walk away.

"Lily," he said, freezing her. "I really am sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, James," she said. She pushed the hair out of her face, and started toward the stairs.

"Hey, wait," he called, running after her. "Don't skip," he said. "If you can manage. I'm gonna have a word with him, so he won't be in lessons. Skiving off just makes it look like it got to you."

"It did."

"Shouldn't have," he whispered. "I'm the only one in a position to say, and I can promise you his imitation was anything but accurate."

"That doesn't actually make me feel better," she said, blushing and looking away.

"It should." He grinned at her. "I think you're sexy as hell. Just keep that in your head today, if anyone mentions anything."

She wouldn't have guessed she could turned any redder, but she managed it. "Alright," she said. "I'll do my best."

He winked at her, and let her go her separate way. She wondered how their conversation would go.

* * *

James Potter was not known for his patience. His parents' friends still spoke fondly – fondly! – about the screaming fits he had as a child. He could guarantee every student in Hogwarts knew the consequences of crossing him, and feared them.

He used to feel pride at the idea. He no longer did.

He tracked Sirius down easily enough, with the help of the map. His friend was up in the seventh year dormitory with Remus and Peter, whispering heatedly.

"Well, here is the man himself," Sirius began.

"Shut it," James said. He looked at Remus and Peter. "We need a minute." Remus inclined his head. Peter, who had been looking from James to Sirius with an avid expression, followed dejectedly in his wake.

"I don't know how she managed to shove a stick so far up your arse-"

"She didn't, and if you can't leave her out of this, we're going to have a serious problem."

Sirius bared his teeth. "What's she done to you then? It's like you're a different person this year."

"Merlin, I hope so," James breathed.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I've had time to think about it, and I'd really rather not be a wanker that goes around bullying people."

"We don't bully people."

"What would you call that?" James shouted, gesturing toward the door, which stood in nicely for the Defense classroom.

"It was a laugh. She's been a right bitch, claiming all your-"

"How many times do I have to tell you to leave her out of it!"  
"Merlin, mate. If we don't remove that stick soon . . ."

"I haven't got a stick up my arse, you wanker. She didn't do anything to you. She was probably just sitting there."

"And?"

"And there was no reason to attack her like that!"

"Don't be so melodramatic. Nobody attacked her. We were just having a chat."

"Sirius."

"James." Sirius stuck his tongue out at James and gave him a cheeky grin. James used his wand to levitate a chair and smash it into a wall, wiping all humor from his friend's face.

"I'm not joking, Sirius. She hasn't been eating up all my time. I've been avoiding you because you keep acting the bully, and I'm done with it."

"Done with _what_, exactly?" Sirius asked in a very quiet voice.

"Acting the bully," James snapped. "But I'm too bloody pathetic to tell you to lay off, so I've just been steering clear."

"That's ridiculous."

"Which part?" James said, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

"All of it, really, if you're asking. But the part about avoiding me, especially. You want me to lay off Evans? I'll lay off. I guess I could see how that would make it easier to work with her."

James paused. He considered taking it. It was more than he expected. It wasn't all he wanted, though. "I want you to lay off everyone," he said.

"Well, that's a bit harder."

"Sirius."

Sirius shrugged. "I'll do what I can. I'm not making promises. If someone's just asking for it . . ."

James sighed.

"But I'll give it a shot. Bloody hell, mate. It's not worth avoiding us for. Spending all your time with Evans . . ." He shivered.

"Oh, shut it."

Sirius just laughed and suggested a game of exploding snap, with shots.


	17. Cathartic

When James stumbled in later, he was surprised to find Lily sitting on the couch in the common room. He looked left and right. Then he walked over to her bedroom and stuck his head in.

"There doesn't seem to be much carnage," he said, looking back at the redhead, who was watching him patiently.

"No," she said. "I think I've managed fairly well."

He grinned at her. "Did my parting suggestion help?"

She rolled her eyes, as he crawled onto the couch with her. "Have you been drinking? James, it's barely 4:00 in the afternoon."

"Yes, I know. Sirius and I talked."

"Mmm."

"Don't make that sound, like you think I just let it all go."

"I wasn't saying that, exactly."

He took her hand, unable to help himself. He liked the shape of it, the long, delicate fingers. The soft skin. The fact that she let him touch her.

"I took a page from your book."

"You ignored him?"

"I broke a chair against the wall."

She choked out a laugh. "And then got drunk. I think perhaps I don't understand boys."

"I'm sure of that," he said, bringing her palm up to his lips. He liked touching her. More, he liked the way she reacted when he touched her. The flush slowly rising along her skin, the lowered lids. "Anyway, first we fought."

"Talked a bit louder, you mean," she said in a dry voice, making him laugh.

"Exactly. With punctuation in the form of flying furniture."

"Sounds cathartic."

"For me, yeah. I think Sirius was a bit shocked by it." He shifted closer to her. "He said he'd leave you alone."

"Oh?"

"Mmhhmmm . . . I almost stopped at that, but I didn't. I said I'd rather he just leave everyone alone."

"I doubt he liked that."

"Not much, no. But he said he'd try. No promises, but that he'd try."

"I suppose that's something."

He leaned forward, tucked some hair behind her ear, brushed his nose against hers. "How are you? Really."

"Fine," she said in a small voice.

"You know he was just talking out his arse, don't you?" he said, running his thumb along her jawline.

"I don't think I want to talk about that," she said, voice dropping to barely a whisper.

"Ok," he said. "I'm just going to say one more thing. Which is that any bloke in his right mind would be delighted to shag you, and probably end up obsessed with you afterward."

"I'm sure."

"I'm speaking from experience here."

"We've already established that you're a few cards short of a full deck," she muttered.

He didn't laugh. He knew her well enough to spot the deflection, to know how much it would have bothered her, what Sirius had said.

"I mean it. You're beautiful." He pressed a light kiss to her lips, another to each eyelid, another to her nose. "And curvy."

She made a sound low in her throat, unmistakably a warning.

"Which isn't a bad thing in the least. You look like a woman, that's all. Most blokes like that in a girl."

"Can we just-"

"And," he continued, not letting her change the subject, "you're very responsive."

She pulled away. "Oh my God. Please tell me I don't squeal."

He laughed, unable to stop himself. When she started to rise, he pulled her back down. "You don't sound anything like a pig. You're quite enthusiastic." When she covered her face, he pulled her hands away. "But trust me, that's a good thing. Some birds just sort of . . . let you do what you want, without being all that . . . involved, I guess. You're there every step of the way."

"I really don't want to talk about this anymore, James."

"And, you're obviously into it, which is amazing."

"James."

"And you sound nothing like a pig," he finished in a rush.

She said nothing.

He realized his hands were in his hair, and stopped himself. She thought it was ridiculous when he did that. He studied her, wondering if he should have said anything at all. Maybe he just needed to learn to keep his mouth shut around her.

"Should I not have said anything?" he asked quietly. "Only, I just wanted to make sure you didn't think that I thought-"

"No, it's fine."

He pulled her in against his chest, relieved when she went without hesitation. "Just so you know, if you gave me a choice between shagging you or a room full of birds hand-picked by Sirius, I'd choose you any day."

"James."

"And he'd absolutely shag you too."

"Good lord, James."

"What? He would. I shared a dorm with him. I know who he's shagged. He doesn't have any sort of standards."

Now she did pull away.

"I didn't mean it like that. I mean, he'll shag absolutely anyone. And if he ever saw you without your robes on – not even naked, just without the billowing robes - he'd probably devote his life to getting you into bed. And if he ever got you there, he'd never want to leave."

"Can we please stop talking about me and Sirius shagging?"

"I wasn't-" he broke off at her look. An image of them together rose in his head, disturbing him more than he expected. "Yeah," he said. "Let's just move on."

She said nothing for a moment. "Thank you for trying to make me feel better, though."

"As horrible of a job as I did."

"And," she said, shifting to straddle him. "Thank you for saying something today." She leaned down to kiss him.

"Mmmhhmm . . ." he said, between kisses. "I'm just glad he didn't turn you off shagging altogether."

She pushed him back. "None of this was about me, was it? It was all about you being able to keep shagging me."

"And isn't that the best compliment," he said, laughing when she hit him. "It was about _us,_ Lily. Mutually beneficial."

"You are such a wanker."

But she let him pull her closer, and she didn't protest again.


	18. Ideas

Classes the next day were . . . tense. She could sense that everyone recognized a shift. All eyes were on James and Sirius, with the occasional darting glance in her direction.

Nothing came of it, though. Sirius ignored her completely. James appeared satisfied with the result. And Lily went on looking for a spell that might help her deal with her real problem.

When he returned to the common room that night, James was delighted with his progress.

"Did you notice?" he asked, practically dancing into her room. "Not a word from him. I mean, words, yeah. But I don't think he insulted a single person, all day."

She smiled, more at James than his friend's accomplishment. She guessed it had killed Sirius to keep his comments to himself all day. She doubted it would last long at all. "That's great James."

"You don't think it'll stick," he said, sitting on her desk.

She shrugged. "Who am I to say?" She turned her book to face him. "What do you think of this one?"  
He read over it quickly. "You'd have to apparate to where they were," he said. "Cursing a name gives you the location, not the speaker."

"Yeah," she said, chewing on her quill. "I wonder if there's a way to modify it."

She looked up and found him staring into space. "Why don't you go spend some time with him?" she suggested. "You know, positive reinforcement and all that."

"What? No. I wasn't thinking about that. I was just . . . I had an idea. Umm . . . Let me just, go get something."

Lily stared at his retreating back, bemused.

He reappeared a moment later. "If I show you something, can you keep it to yourself."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Yes?"

"Is that a question? Because I'm going to need a firm answer here. If word gets out . . ."

"What is it, James?"

He handed her a piece of parchment.

"What is this?"

"It's a map," he said. He mumbled something and waved his wand, and it became exactly that. "It shows where everyone is, in the castle, at any given time."

She stared at it, studied each and every dot. "Oh my God. Where did you get this?"

"We made it."

Her look was either very complimentary or very insulting, because he looked embarrassed.

"You and . . ."

"And Sirius and Remus. And Peter," he added, as an afterthought. "I was thinking, what if you did put that curse on your name, but then, once you knew the location, you could just look at the map to see who was in the room where they said it."

"Would they let me borrow the map?"

"Well," he said, thinking it over, "they definitely would if they knew _why_ you needed it." At her look, he continued. "But, I could just hang on to it. Say I needed it for something. I could probably make up a good story, if they pressed."

"This is amazing, James," she said, still examining the map. "I mean, this is really great magic. I knew you guys were good, but this . . ."

She glanced up, touched to find him flushed. She pulled him down for a kiss. "Really, brilliant. And inventive!"

"Yeah, well. If it helps . . ."

"I'll do it tonight."

* * *

One night was all it took for them to realize it had been a terrible idea. People said her name more often than either had guessed. It probably didn't help that with the fight between James and Sirius, she was a topic of conversation in many of the sixth and seventh year dorms.

Switching to the word "mudblood" was even more disturbing. Lily knew what to expect. The frequency of use stunned James, left him speechless, and something close to distraught.

She took the curse off. The headache alone was too much to bear.

* * *

With Christmas rolling around, they were back to ground zero. She walked dejectedly into the common room, shocked to find James with a pile of candy in his arms.

"James! Have you been supplying me with sweets all this time?" she demanded.

He looked down at his bounty and laughed. "No. This is a one time deal. I thought you could use some cheering up."

"Oh," she said. "I guess the kitchen just supplies us somehow."

"It's not the kitchen," he commented, dropping the pile of candy onto a counter. "It's the house elves."

"The what?"

"The house elves. They're the ones who put it all in here."

Lily felt silly for having to ask, but could think of no other way to get the information, so she press on. "What are house elves?"

Surprise crossed his face, but he smothered it. "I'll show you," he offered, holding out a hand.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Come on. Really. You'll like it."

Cautiously, she laid her hand in his. He pulled her out of the common room and down the hall, through several passages she didn't recognize, until they came to a portrait of some fruit. To her surprise, he tickled it, and a door opened.

"James."  
"It's just the kitchens," he said. "Come on."

He led her inside. Dozens of tiny creatures rushed forward, bowing and offering food. They called him by name, and seemed to know what he liked. Lily gripped his hand just a touch harder.

"This is Lily," he said, to the crowd of house elves. They all immediately set about discovering what they might do for her.

"Oh, I'm fine, thank you," she said, uncertain.

"She's got a sweet tooth. All those biscuits we've been eating," he stage whispered to the elves, "her." He jerked a thumb in her direction.

Several elves scurried around, and before she could sort out what they were doing, two pieces of cake and three pieces of pie appeared before her, offered on trays by trembling house elves.

"Take them," James whispered. "You'll hurt their feeling if you don't."

"I haven't got enough hands," she whispered back.

She took two, thanking each elf, and indicated that James would carry the rest.

They all began bowing again, ushering them out of the room.

The moment they were outside, she turned to James. "I don't understand."

"They're house elves," he said. "Another magical race. They're really powerful."

"At cooking?"

"At everything."

"Why were they dressed like that? I think one was in a towel."

He nodded, trying to take a bite of pie straight from the plate, without dropping anything. "Yeah. It's part of the package. If they're given clothes, they're freed."

"They're not free?" Lily gasped.

He shook his head. "Nope. It's really hard to free them, actually. My mum doesn't like it. My dad's family always had house elves, so when they got married, she was stuck with two. She tried to give them clothes a dozen times. They still sort of hate her for it."

"For wanting to free them?"

"They don't want to be free," he said. "I don't get it either. I just," he shrugged, nearly dropping the third plate, "try to be nice and make sure they seem happy."

"That's so sad," Lily said. "And nobody knows why they're like that?"

"Not that I know of," he said. "Dumbledore says just to be kind to them."

"He does, huh?" Lily said, giving him a curious look. "When have you guys talked about house elves."

He cleared his throat. "Oh, you know . . ."

"No," she said. "I don't. I'm quite certain it's never come up at one of the feasts."

He shrugged.

"James."

"He knows my family," he admitted.

She laughed, walking back to the room with him. "Why wouldn't you just say that?"

"I didn't want you to think I got away with stuff, because of it. If anything, I think my parents hear more about whatever I get up to."

"Probably," she agreed, easily enough.

"Anyway . . ."

They had arrived at their door. Lily said the password, and it swung open.

"I was actually thinking about that," James said, kicking the door shut. He joined her at the table, letting her take the pie off his hands.

"About knowing Dumbledore?"

"About knowing my family. About you, knowing my family."

Lily struggled to pull her attention away from her slice of pie. "What? I don't know your family."

"Yeah," he said. "So, I thought you should come. To our Christmas party. We have one each year. Dumbledore will be there. Not that that's a plus, really, having your headmaster at a party. But, you know, lots of people will be there." He stopped for a breath.

"James," she said. "That's very sweet, but no."

"No?"

She shook her head, taking a massive bite. "Absolutely not," she said, with her mouth full.

"Why not?"

"It's a terrible idea."

He looked taken aback.

"I don't mean any offense."

"Of course not. How could I possibly take offense?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure your family is very nice."

"Well . . ." he said, thinking it over. "I think they'd be nice to _you_, at any rate."

"Well, as tempting as _that_ makes it sound . . ."

"Really. I think they'd like you."

"Whether they would or they wouldn't isn't really the issue." She got up to get some milk. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No," he said. "How is that not the issue?"

"The issue is us, James."

"What about us?"

"Well," she said, walking back to the table and settling down for more pie. "For starters, we aren't an us."

"Of course we are."

She shook her head. "No. We're just shagging. And friendly. How would you even introduce me?"

"As Lily. As the Head Girl. What does it matter?"

"And that," she said, pointing at him with her fork, "is why it's a terrible idea. You would panic – or I would panic – definitely one of us would panic. And then it would get awkward. And there would be questions. And it just . . ." she made a vague gesture with her fork. "Isn't a good idea."

"Why do you think I would panic?"  
"Because people would ask questions. 'Oh, is this your girlfriend?'" she said in a deep voice. "And neither of us would know how to respond, so we'd both say something stupid, and it would just go south from there."

"Well . . ."

"And anyway, I'm sort of looking forward to some time away from wizards. I've decided not to open my school books the whole vacation. Can't get any notes if I'm not looking, can I?"

"No," he said. "I suppose not."

She leaned over and gave him a smacking kiss. "It was very sweet of you to offer, though."

"Yeah, sure," he said, starting in on his own slice of pie.


End file.
